Smoke And Mirrors
by cacophonymorganshaw
Summary: Finnick and Cacophony Morgan-Shaw are dating. Is she ready for commitment? Finnick OdairxOC OOC Finnick Odair


Finnick Odair x D4!Reader (Love-Hate)

**(A/N: Well, this took a while to finish up.  
>I assure you, I was writing this.<br>This was a request from , a friend. Enjoy!)**

Your P.O.V:

You heave a shaky breath. Your mother had fitted you into a cotton, pale turquoise dress, brushed your hair out and halo-braided it. It's Reaping Day in District 4, for the 65th Hunger Games. Being in District 4, you had been trained since you were eight and as you had grown, your training was more frequent. Knives you can use effortlessly with nearly flawless accuracy, a bow isn't really your weapon but you're OK with it and machetes/katanas were also easy to use for you.

Now that you're twelve, you had even more pressure put on you in training.

Slowly, the woman who is picking the names out, reaches into the bowl. She digs deep and rustles round. Finally, she pulls one out, unfolds it and calls in a clear voice.

"(Full Name)!"

All the air is knocked out of you. You force yourself to breathe steadily as the crowd parts for you. Your white ballet pumps tap the ground while you walk up to the platform.

Mylene Worthington, the woman choosing the names, smiles at your smarmily.

"And the male tribute for the 65th Hungers Games is . . ." She trots over to the opposite bowl. Dipping her hand in, she thrusts it about and lifts her hand out.

"Finnick Odair!" She scans the paper.

Your expression contorts to one of pure hatred and annoyance. You and Finnick had never seen eye-to-eye. You thought he had an inflated sense of self-importance, he thought you were too serious.

The shaky blonde takes a step next to Mylene.

As you and Finnick lock gazes, there's one message passed between the two of you.

"_Prepare to get your fishy ass whooped_."

The stylist has managed to squeeze you into a tight, teal-coloured lolita with a frilly hem. Makeup has been dabbed all over your face, so you look like one of those tarted-up Capitol kids.

"And with your already petite and adorable nature, the whole crowd will simply _adore_ you." The stylist, Kayleigh, assures you. A hairdresser quickly checks over your tight and glossy bun before nodding and ushering you over to your interview.

"Well, hello there, dear." Caesar smiles warmly, urging you to come over.

Sweetly beaming at the audience, you stride over and gracefully take a seat.

The interview between Caesar and you went something along the lines of this:

Caesar: So how are you, (Name)?

You: I am well, thank you. Barely surviving with the irritation of Odair, but well all the same.

Audience: *wistful chuckle*

Caesar: Hehe, OK.  
>So, did the Reaping come as a surprise in any way?<p>

You: *shaking your head* Not really. Y'know, at the end of the day, being in a Career District, you feel you're prepared for anything.

Caesar: And _are_ you?

You: *pausing for a few moments* *nodding* I think so.

Caesar: Do you have anyone to win the games for?

You: My younger brother and sister, my Dad and Mum.

Caesar: Oh, you have siblings? They must be as adorable as you.

Audience: *'aww'ing*

You: *chuckling* Well, I'm not sure about adorable.  
>There's Isabel and Marcus. They look <em>nothing<em> like me, I assure you. Isabel's nine and Marcus is eleven.

Caesar: Oh, they're lucky, aren't they? Still a while until they're legible for the Games.

You: They consider themselves _un_lucky. Bloodthirsty pandas, they are! You walk into their shared bedroom, all of the teddies have been massacred.

Audience: *laughing*

Caesar: Do the darlings _want_ to be in the Games?

You: Eh. Fifty-fifty.

Caesar: *chuckling* OK, (Na)-"

You: Most probably.

Audience: *laughing very loudly*

Caesar: Haha, (Name). You really know how to make a guy crack up.

You: *rolling your eyes* Tell that to _Finnick_. He thinks I'm an emotionless tiger.

Caesar: Well, you're a ray of sunshine, aren't you?

You: *shrugs* I try.

Audience: *laughing*

Caesar: Thank you, (Full Name), for joining us in this interview.  
>May the odds be ever in your favour!<p>

You: *nodding and walking out, waving and blowing kisses at the audience*

Scowling with concentration, you aim the knife and observe the way it whistles past Finnick's ear. The boy fingers his unharmed ear.

"You have good aim . . . for a bitch." He smirks.

"Shut up, Odair." You snap, striding past him.

You have managed to grab a large backpack, a few knives and a thick coat from the Cornucopia. Now, you plan to put as much distance between you and that bloodbath. The sounds of the forest echo in your ears as they lead you on.

Slowing down, you scan your surroundings. The mentor recommended to find a clean water source first. So far, it looks pretty dry.

Huffing, you stroll on, careful about how much noise your feet make. Eventually, you find Finnick, cleaning off stains from his trident. You suspect it's a sponsor gift; a very expensive one, at that.

He looks up and grins. "Hey, (Name)."

Monotonous, you reply, "Hi and bye, Finnick." You crouch down, fill your bottle up with water, cleanse it, wait another thirty minutes and stomp off.

Sighing, Finnick states, "(Name), we're in the same district. We should try surviving together."

"Tell me, what good would _that_do?" You puff, aware that all of this is being broadcasted as live television. "We hate each other's presence."

Finnick considers this. "True. But we would be better as a team, right?"

Plucking up all your courage, you say, "No, Finnick. We'd be ripping one another's throats out."

Suddenly, Finnick swoops over and encases you in a hug. He closes the distance between you two and places a firm yet gentle kiss on your lips. Writhing in his grasp, you squeal in surprise. Finnick smirks and holds you even tighter.

Very gradually, you allow him entry to your mouth and the two of you stay there, quietly kissing.

Soon, the alarming sound of the cannon separates you two.

You're standing there, taking in deep breaths, Finnick grinning at you.

"Fine." You snort and huff, still half smirking. "I'll _consider_ your group request."

And off you trot, your lips tingling with Finnick's salty-flavoured liplock.  
>_<p> 


End file.
